


Cuffed

by DictionaryWrites



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Flirting, Handcuffs, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Silly, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:04:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21763084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: For a request.Martin, Jon, and handcuffs.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 14
Kudos: 210





	Cuffed

Martin lets his head fall forward, burying his face against Jon’s neck. He doesn’t put all of his weight on Jon - he’s much too heavy for that even when Jon is looking completely healthy (by his standards), let alone when he’s pale and anemic and looking... _hungry_. 

“It’s alright,” Jon says softly against his ear, his hands loosely settling on Martin’s waist as he backs him into the lift, and Martin closes his eyes, his hands loosely fisting in Jon’s shirt, as it begins to move. 

“Why are we at your flat?” Martin asks.

“Because you’re still handcuffed, and I’m waiting on Renata, one of the clerks in artifact storage, to come and break you out of them. Her father is a keycutter. I didn’t think you’d want the embarrassment of... I told her it was a sex thing. Well, I, ah, I _confirmed_ it was a sex thing, when she assumed. I hope you don’t mind.” 

Martin laughs weakly, but it makes his coat a little loose on his shoulders, and Jon has to rush to catch it before it falls off his shoulders, but then he unlocks the door to his flat, leading Martin in.

The cuffs make his wrists ache - his kidnappers (had they been of the Web? he thinks so, but it’s hazy) had tightened them enough that they did right into the meat of his arms a little bit, and he’s fairly certain if they were any tighter, he’d be losing circulation. 

“Your circulation is fine,” Jon says. “You’ll have some bruises, but that’s all.” Martin’s wince must be obvious, because Jon adds, in a low tone, “Sorry. I need to look at the ligature marks on your neck.”

“Did you tell Renata you tried to hang me as part of a sex game too?”

“Do you think she’ll believe it was autoerotic?” Jon asks, and Martin laughs, dropping down into one of Jon’s armchairs. Jon’s flat, if you didn’t know him, would seem fashionable and chic - the two armchairs are made of a dark brown, burnished leather, and the couch matches. The coffee table is made of a dark cherry wood, and all the furniture matches; the cream-coloured rug complements the décor. 

Martin knows that Jon isn’t fashionable or chic. Jon had told him a few weeks ago, tipsy as they’d snogged on top of Jon’s stylish Egyptian linens, that when he bought his furniture for his flat, he just copied everything out of catalogue displays. It had made him feel like he had his life together, at the time, to have everything look so perfect in a way he wouldn’t be able to replicate with his own lack of taste - that’s what he’d said. It was the complete opposite of Martin’s flat, full of second or third or fourth-hand pieces of mismatched furniture, blankets thrown over every surface. 

“You’re a control freak,” Martin had murmured against his mouth at the time, and Jon had laughed, nodded. “I already knew that, Jon.”

“Yeah,” he’d said. “Yeah.”

Jon’s fingers are slightly cool on Martin’s neck as they gently touch against the rope marks, but none of them have drawn blood, at least. “We have time for a sex thing,” Jon murmurs in his ear. “If you want.”

Martin laughs, and Jon laughs with him, sounding relieved, and Martin grabs hold of his jacket, pulling Jon into his lap. Jon drops onto his thighs, and Martin exhales lowly at the sting of the bruises underneath his weight. Jon leans forward, nudging their noses against one another, gently touching Martin’s jaw. 

“I never imagined you’d be so soft,” Martin says. “When I thought about it, in the beginning. Didn’t imagine you’d suggest_ sex things _just because you’re worried about me.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be interested,” Jon admits, shrugging his shoulders. “Those handcuffs are a little too tight to be erotic, and I know that trauma doesn’t exactly do it for you.”

“Doesn’t exactly,” Martin repeats, and he opens his hands a little wider, encouraging Jon’s hands into his own. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon says. “I should have seen it coming.”

“Can’t see everything coming, Jon,” Martin says. 

“Not yet,” Jon says. He doesn’t apologise, this time, but Martin can see the urge to in the twitch of his lips, the shift of his gaze. “You’re certain I can’t interest you in a sex thing?”

“Hm,” Martin murmurs, squeezing Jon’s hands. “I suppose I could be convinced to--”

The door bell rings.

Martin frowns. “You _knew_ she was there.”

Jon - Jon, Martin’s Jon, the Archivist, Jonathan Sims - actually winks at him, and the laugh makes Martin’s throat ache as he gets to his feet to go let Renata in. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to hit up [my ask on Tumblr.](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask) Requests open.
> 
> I have a Magnus Archives discord! [Join here!](https://discord.gg/c9aZWDz)


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